


Common Disaster

by trixietru



Category: Psych
Genre: Angst and Humor, Doubt, First Time, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-29 13:32:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18223811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trixietru/pseuds/trixietru
Summary: Kissing Shawn Spencer was exactly as terrible as Lassiter had always imagined it might be





	Common Disaster

**Author's Note:**

> Set late S3 or early S4. My ability to write fic is mostly dead, as is this fandom (RIP), but I hope that there are still a few Shassie-craving readers out there who will get a few minutes of enjoyment from this.

Run away with me from a life so cramped and dull  
Not worry too much about the happily-ever-after  
Just keep the Caddy moving  
'Til we're well beyond that hill  
Won't you share a common disaster?  
\- Cowboy Junkies 

Kissing Shawn Spencer was exactly as terrible as Lassiter had always imagined it might be. The surprised huff of air from Spencer, followed immediately by his hands reaching up to frame Lassiter’s face, like he was afraid Lassiter might suddenly back away? The worst. The hungry way he deepened the kiss, his tongue slick and hot, his body pushing into Lassiter’s like he couldn’t get close enough? Awful. So awful that Lassiter worried he might be thinking about it for months, if not years to come. So terrible that he might remember this moment for the rest of his life. 

If kissing him was bad, sleeping with Shawn Spencer was even worse. Shawn was somehow both greedy and generous, warm and pliant and eager under Lassiter’s hands. When he came, he moaned Lassiter’s name – no, not even his name, that stupid nickname – and Lassiter felt like he wanted to live in that moment forever. It was horrible. He was disgusted with himself for letting this happen with Spencer - Spencer of all people! - and nearly as disgusted with Spencer for not pushing him away. Or, at least, he planned on being disgusted later. It was difficult, right now, with the memory still so fresh and new of Shawn staring up at him with dark wide eyes, his body tight and yielding around Lassiter’s cock. 

Fortunately, they had arrived at what was certain to be the most atrocious part, the pinnacle of badness: The awkward post-sex interaction. Spencer was going to say something soon, because he was incapable of keeping his mouth shut for more than five minutes, and whatever he said was sure to be insulting and immature. He would make fun of Lassiter’s stamina or breath or technique (there had been no technique, just frantic, needy fucking). 

He could hear Spencer’s breathing from the pillow beside him evening out, returning to baseline. He was still, unusually so, and quieter for longer than Lassiter would have thought possible. When he finally did speak, it was disturbing to hear his own thoughts echoed back at him.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe we…I must have put on my bad idea jeans this morning. And then you…you ripped them off!”

That was NOT what had happened. Spencer had pushed, and pushed, the way he always did, and Lassiter had snapped and…okay, there had been no _ripping_. Probably.

Lassiter would have been more than happy to make it easy on both of them by getting up, getting dressed, and leaving without a word, but they were actually at his home, so doing any of that would have been weird. Equally weird would have been telling Spencer to leave; he wasn’t actually angry and he wasn’t sure how to order someone out when they were currently naked and…post-coital without being angry. Actually, it was hard to be angry about anything at the moment, what with the post-orgasmic bliss and all. It was disconcerting not to be angry, so that was another thing that he could blame Spencer for. 

“Let’s just not talk about it, okay?” he said. His intention was to sound firm, commanding, but to his own ears he sounded pleading and desperate. “Forget it ever happened.” The bliss was definitely fading. Good. It was a distraction he didn’t need.

“Sure,” Shawn said, after a moment. “I’ll just whip up a Forget-O smoothie and never think again about you fucking me until I saw stars.”

“Shut up,” Lassiter said automatically, although what he was thinking was wait, you saw the stars too?

“There might have even been constellations,” Shawn mused, “but never mind, I forgot that I’m supposed to be forgetting that it ever happened. I’m gonna have to come up with some other explanation for why my ass is sore tomorrow.”

“Oh my god,” Lassiter groaned. Yep, the bliss was definitely gone, but it was kind of a relief to be back on familiar ground. Except there was nothing familiar about the fact that Spencer was still in the bed next to him, warm and naked and far too touchable. To block out the sight, and hopefully encourage Spencer to leave, Lassiter reached over and snatched the pillow out from under his head, then covered his own face with it. It was quiet and dark under the pillow. Maybe if he was very still, Shawn would get the hint and go. 

His hopes were dashed when the corner of the pillow was lifted. 

“Are you trying to smother yourself?” Shawn asked, peering down at him curiously. “Because it’s not going to work. Also, I would take it very personally.”

“Why can’t you just leave?” Lassiter asked, pulling the pillow back down so that he was once more surrounded by darkness. It muffled his voice, but he knew that Shawn could hear him. There was a long silence, and Lassiter had to resist the urge to peek out and see what kind of expression was on Spencer’s face. Losing the pillow now would feel like losing the one shield he had, and god knew he needed some kind of shield in this situation, because otherwise he would be unguarded and defenseless. 

“I can leave, if that’s what you want,” Shawn said finally, and the sonofabitch had the balls to sound hurt, like he hadn’t been just as horrified as Lassiter had been at what they had done. 

“It’s what we both want,” Lassiter said, from underneath the pillow. “It was a dumb mistake. It won’t happen again.”

There was more silence from the other side of the bed. It was creepy, having Spencer be this quiet for this long. Lassiter wished Shawn would go; it was starting to get uncomfortable under the pillow. 

“Was it, though?” Shawn finally asked. Lassiter was going to assume that it was a rhetorical question. 

“I mean,” Shawn continued, and oh no, it sounded like he was winding up for a long speech of some sort, “we’ve obviously been dancing around this for a while. Not literally dancing, because that would be weird, unless you’d like to go dancing sometime.”

“I would not,” Lassiter confirmed, still under the pillow.

“Didn’t think so. Still, would continuing to ignore the obvious heat between us have benefited anyone?”

“Yes…I mean, there was no heat. Whatever you’re babbling about is all in your head, Spencer.”

“Lassie. Come on.” Shawn snatched the pillow away and tossed it aside. He was way too close, and way too naked, and Lassiter absolutely did not want to touch him again. 

“This thing,” Shawn said, waving a hand between them, “was going to explode eventually, and what if it had exploded all over everyone around us, huh? A sex bomb of badness! “

“You’re disgusting.”

“You didn’t think so an hour ago. But look, this way, it was a controlled explosion. Only the two of us blew up. Gus and Jules and everyone else was kept away from the blast area.”

“This is a stupid metaphor that doesn’t make sense.”

“You’re a stupid metaphor that doesn’t make sense,” Shawn shot back, then flopped suddenly back into a sprawl on the bed. “How can I be expected to think of good metaphors after all the sexing? It’s going to be at least half an hour before my metaphor reserves are restocked. I probably couldn’t even come up with a good fake name for Gus right now.”

Lassiter knew that he shouldn’t be flattered - he should be kicking Spencer out, he should be pretending this never happened, he should be trying to figure out if time travel was possible, so he could go back to the previous day and make sure this timeline never existed - but. Still. He couldn’t help but be pleased that Shawn seemed to be as addled by this whole…situation as Lassiter himself was.

Shawn was, of course, still talking. “Where did you learn that thing you did with your thumb? I thought my head was gonna explode, in a good way.” 

Lassiter tried to scowl, but it turned into more of a pleased smirk. “Shut up, Spencer.” Truth be told, he wasn’t entirely certain what thumb thing Shawn was referring to; the entire event was a thrilling blur. 

“Make me shut up,” Shawn said, and suddenly he was leaning over Lassiter again, not kissing him but close enough that when Lassiter spoke, his lips brushed against Shawn’s. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” 

“Not thinking, that’s for sure.”

“Not thinking is what got us here in the first place.”

“I like it here,” Shawn said, “I liked it even better when you were doing me against the headboard.”

“This is nuts. We shouldn’t be doing this.” 

Shawn smiled. “Your hand on my ass is undermining your argument.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I have to put my hand somewhere.”

Shawn’s skin was warm and soft. It was probably true that he could put his hand elsewhere, but that did not seem likely to happen at the moment.

Instead of replying, Shawn kissed him. If possible, it was even more terrible than before. Slow and searching, Shawn teasing out with his lips and his tongue what he could do to make Lassiter moan and squirm and fist his hand into Shawn’s hair so that he could pull him even closer. He was starting to get hard again, they both were, and Shawn ground against him, the pleasure mind-blowing and intense and an absolute disaster.

When they finally broke apart from the kiss, Shawn’s expression was dreamy and dazed. “That was…”

“Awful,” Lassiter despaired. “This is the worst idea in the world.”

Instead of being insulted, like a normal person would have been, Shawn just grinned down at him. “I know. Isn’t it great?”

“No! Spencer, we can’t do this.”

“Not to point out the obvious, but that ship has already sailed, so I don’t see why we shouldn’t raise anchor, hoist the sails again, and set out for uncharted territory. You’re already at half-mast! Where’s your sense of adventure?”

Lassiter closed his eyes, both to try and gather his thoughts and to shut out Shawn’s hopeful expression. It wasn’t his sense of adventure that was missing, it was his willpower. It was dangerous to want anything this much. 

“Lassie, I don’t have to be psychic to know what you’re thinking.” Shawn’s voice was surprisingly gentle. 

Lassiter opened his eyes, feeling somewhat more on familiar ground. “That’s good, because you’re not psychic.”

Shawn ignored this. “To return to the sailing metaphor -”

“Do we have to?”

“You’re afraid that this is going to turn into some kind of _Titanic_ level disaster.”

“More like a _Wilhelm Gustloff_ level disaster.”

Shawn blinked. “A who?”

“Nazi ship that was sank by a Russian sub in 1945. The estimate is that around 9000 people were on board and died. It’s considered the deadliest maritime disaster in history.”

“Huh. I did not know that. This is definitely the most educational pillow talk I’ve ever participated in.”

“Sorry to bore you.”

“Oh, I’m not bored,” Shawn said, and kissed him again, quickly, before continuing. “Lassie, this is not going to be a Wilford Brimley type disaster.”

“ _Wilhelm Gustloff_ ,” Lassiter corrected. 

“You know, I’m sure I’ve heard it both ways, and you should stop changing the subject.”

“Me??”

“I don’t know if, or how, this thing will work,” Shawn said, “but I do know that it will work better than what we were doing before.”

“We weren’t doing anything before!”

“Exactly, and it sucked.”

“It was fine,” Lassiter said, not quite meeting Shawn’s eyes. “It was working.”

“If it was working so well then why are my boxer shorts hanging off of your ceiling fan?”

Lassiter glanced up. Huh. How did…? Best not to think about it.

“If it was working, then why did you yell at me about, and I quote, “one of your harebrained schemes invented to give me gray hair” and then shove me into the backseat of your car and kiss me until I was dizzy and then drive us to your place like a bat out of hell? You ran two yellow lights, Lassie! _Two_!”

Lassiter could feel himself blushing, which was ridiculous given their nakedness and the various fluids drying on both of them and the events of the past couple of hours. “I didn’t _shove_ you,” he muttered, a weak defense but the only one he muster.

“You did. You manhandled me like I was a naughty perp. It was super hot.”

“You’re twisted.”

“So what does that make you?”

“I must be twisted too,” he admitted with a sigh of defeat. 

“Yes! You’re finally starting to get it! Let’s be twisted together!” 

“That’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard,” Lassiter said, ignoring the way that the thought of it made his heart thump a little faster.

“I find that hard to believe. I’ve said far stupider things.”

That drew an unwilling laugh out of Lassiter. “Well, I can’t argue with that.”

“I know it’s a risk. But Lassie, repressing, ignoring this thing between us...it’s no good, and I can’t do it anymore. “

“I don’t care what you can do.” Lassiter knew he was being an asshole, but it was the only weapon he had left against Shawn. 

Spencer went quiet again, and Lassiter felt a pang of remorse for hurting his feelings, if that was even what was going on. It was hard to guess with Spencer, sometimes, what he was feeling. Maybe that was one of the reasons Lassiter found him so intriguing. 

“Look,” he tried, in a kinder tone, “You know as well as I do that this doesn’t make sense. We’ll end up killing each other, or, at the very least, making each other and everyone around us miserable.”

“Maybe,” Shawn said. “Or, maybe…Lassie, you do everything you’re supposed to do. You double-knot your shoelaces and eat your vegetables and are always punctual. You’re a good cop and a good partner and you tried to be a good husband. And what has all that gotten you? Are you happy?”

It was a dumb question, a child’s question. Lassiter wanted to scoff but for some reason his throat had closed up. Happy? He was respected in his community. He was successful in his career (despite “psychic” interference). He was healthy, financially stable, ambitious. _Happy?_

Instead of arguing, he gathered up all the derision he could to ask “What? You think you can make me happy?”

“Pffft, no. The only person who can make you happy is you.”

“What fortune cookie did you get that out of?” Lassiter wondered, rolling his eyes.

“What I do think, is that with me around, maybe for once you could loosen up, enjoy yourself, enjoy your _life_ , have some fun.”

“Fun,” Lassiter echoed dumbly.

“Yeah, you know, that thing we had earlier today? With the kissing and the screwing and the sweaty manlove? Fun! Maybe, Lassie, instead of doing the things that you’re supposed to do, that people expect of you, you should try something new. You should try doing what you actually want, for a change. “

“And you think that what I want is you?”

“Why not? I’m pretty damn fun, Lassie.” Shawn grinned irrepressibly, and Lassiter was shocked to find that it took all of his willpower not to smile back. The crazy thing was, he was tempted to give in. He was bored, and lonely, and frustrated with his boredom and loneliness. Beyond that, this was Shawn Spencer, the reason for countless daydreams and masturbatory fantasies and sleepless nights. Shawn proceeded to add to the temptation by leaning in close again, planting a soft kiss on Lassiter’s throat, the curve of his shoulder, the sensitive spot right under his ear. It was impossible not to close his eyes and give into it, because this was every fantasy that he had spent months repressing and ignoring come to life. 

This was a fiasco.

He forced his eyes open, forced himself to - gently - push Shawn away. “And what happens when it all goes to hell, Shawn? What do we do then?”

Shawn’s eyes were serious as he gazed down at Lassiter. “What makes you so certain that it’s going to go to hell, Lass?”

He couldn't bear to meet Shawn’s sober optimism head-on, so he turned his face away from those searching hazel eyes and said “Because everything always does. I don’t know why you would expect anything else.”

There was another weighty silence, and Lassiter couldn’t blame Spencer for not knowing how to respond; he was probably trying to gauge how long it would take him to put his pants on and get out the door, escape from the perpetual downer that was Carlton Lassiter.

“I’m not trying to tell you that it will always be easy,” he finally said. “I’m still going to do things that will turn your hair gray, partially because I think you’ll be a hot silver fox, but mostly because taking risks is part of who I am. And you’re probably still going to drive me crazy sometimes by being a stodgy, stick-in-the-mud rule-follower with no imagination.”

“Your seduction technique needs some work,” Lassiter grumped. 

“I don’t know,” Shawn said, lightly tweaking a nipple and making Lassiter gasp, “I seem to be doing pretty well for myself.”

Annoyed, Lassiter grabbed Shawn’s wrists and rolled them over, wanting, at least physically, to have the upper hand. 

“Why do you want this, if I’m such a stuffy, unimaginative bore?” he demanded. “What would you even get out of this?” 

Shawn gaped up at him, eyes so dilated that he looked like he was stoned, and, Lassiter realized belatedly, rock-hard. “Well, this is pretty damn good, for starters,” Shawn squeaked. “And I should never have said that you have no imagination, that was wrong and bad and I should know better than that after today. “

“What happens when you get bored with this?” Lassiter asked, grinding down just enough to make Shawn moan. He looked so rapturous that Lassiter was taken aback by the fierceness in his voice when he replied.

“Jesus, Lassie, what makes you so sure that I’m going to fuck and run? How do I know that you’re not going to flake out on me by keeping me some dirty little secret? Nobody knows anything about the future, not even me. For the record, I think you’re awesome. You’re brave and deeply strange and I can never guess what you’re going to say next and you have the sternum bush and those deep blue eyes that make me weak in the knees. I’ve pretty much wanted you since the day we met, even though you piss me off all the time. Maybe we will crash and burn, but maybe we won’t! What I want to know from you is what the hell do you have to lose?”

Lassiter blinked down at him, stunned. What the hell _did_ he have to lose? Lonely nights? Sexual frustration? A life so well-ordered that he knew which tie he was going to wear three days from now and what he was going to have for dinner the next night? Maybe…maybe there was more to gain than there was to lose. He swallowed hard, trying to come up with the words to tell Shawn how deeply his words had cut, how much they had meant, but maybe Shawn didn’t need the words because he was already smiling, reaching up to bring Lassiter down for a kiss. 

This could be a catastrophe. 

Lassiter couldn’t wait to find out.


End file.
